The 1200th running of the Houston Hash was on Saturday, October 13, 2001.
The rain had been pouring since Tuesday, and there was no clear end in sight. Originally scheduled for 2:00, mismanagement was able to talk Dickhead into pushing it up to 3:00, with hopes of the sky clearing. 2:30 rolled around, and on our way to the hash it was still raining. At the start of the run the deluge had turned into a drizzle, and then it happened: Rain Bitch showed up. Now maybe she knows something that we don’t because the instant she paid her Hash Cash, the sky cleared, the sun came out, the birds were tweeting, and everything was green. It was very wet, but the rain had finally stopped. At 3:47 sharp the pack was off. Leaving the park at War Memorial and Hwy 6, we took off due southwest. Across Hwy 6 we came to a deep gully with a flowing supply of Cold water, welcome to fall. After Sperminator held the barbwire fence for everyone to go under we were into the shiggy, and were never to see asphalt again. After about a mile of listening to Eargasm and myself bitch at each other about eating to many Jack in the Box tacos just before the run, we were heading west across another fence. With no Sperminator in site, we had to hold the wire ourselves. Why is it so hard to find good help now a-days? As the pack traveled through some very low shiggy, we came to a clearing. Low and behold whom do we see? It’s Heartache, looking like a lost child, and is about to cry. French Drip asks, “What’s wrong little cowboy?” To which Heartache replies “Mumble, mumble, something, something.” Ok, so I wasn’t listening, but I’m sure he said something like that. Next thing I know there is an all out contact lens search by Heartache, French Drip, AKA Joe, Larry (he’ll get named later), Sperminator, Sticky Lips, Ginger Beer, and Such-A-Puss, in the deep swampy shiggy. Knowing the hi level of competence of these fellow hashers, I move on.
We eventually came to one of many bayou (river) crossings. With most of the pack ahead of us, Eargasm and I decide to short cut across sooner than later. Jumping in, Eargasm is up to his ears, and is swiftly swept away by the current. Being the studly man that I am, I jump in, promptly save his life, and continue across, while holding Eargasm over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Further upstream, things do not sound good, Pipes was attacked by a poisonous stick that looked like a snake, and Pump Me was upset that it was only a stick. Come the second river crossing. After seeing my act of heroism, Smooth Stroker jumps into the waist deep water, and proceeds to submerge herself to her chin. Realizing that she isn’t being saved, she stands up, and runs away feeling rejected. At the 3rd river crossing, the hash reaches a bone chilling 98 feet above sea level (thanks Roller Balls). We keep pushing through the shiggy, and finally achieve the regular 104 feet. After some more shiggy that is fit more for a midget than someone of Geek or Manage Myself’s stature, we finally make it to the sweet, sweet, beer. Sperminator, 2 kegs of St. Arnold’s, 1 keg of piss, and chocolate peanut butter.
The circle went smoothly, with the main focus on Eargasm. Down down’s went to the hairs; Anal 101, Womb Service, and Gaslight. Reboots; Sperminator, Smelly Trench, Tiny Bubbles, Looney Poon, Thong Long Gone, and many more didn’t get a down down, but should have. Visiting was Furry Balls, Fuzzy Wuzzy, High Maintenance, Punk Ass Bitch, and Reverend Bob. The circle opened for accusations, and Letch called Heartache in. Although he was not on the contact lens search, he did manage to stumble across a hand held GPS, that had an underwear tag that read “I Belong to Mister Happy”, and Heartache actually smiled for a down down. As the circle degenerated, I went to talk to a man about a dog, and some wanker stole my horn. There is now an APB for said vessel.
The ONONON was a delight, with another keg of St. Arnold's, Sperminator, braughtworst, and sour kraut. After the amber was gone, Dickhead managed to produce a keg of Octoberfest, and the masses were happy again. Eventually, as with all good hashes, THEY KICKED US OUT. After receiving a ride home from a sexy, not to be named harriette, Larry realizes that he doesn’t have his house keys, and decides to walk all 14 miles back to his car.